


Piacere

by SilenceoftheSolitude



Series: The Journey [4]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Character Study, Episode Related, F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheSolitude/pseuds/SilenceoftheSolitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She probably wouldn't catalog this as one of her happiest moments in life, but the truth is, it kinda is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piacere

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Here's the last installment in the series, if you haven't read the previous ones make sure you do.
> 
> I appreciate every comment, so please feel free to leave one.
> 
> To Kalinysta, my wonderful beta, my words are inadequate to express the gratitude I feel towards you for your hard work and your support throughout this journey.

**The Journey**

 

 Life isn't about the final moments, it's about the journey, it's about the process. - J. Michael Straczynski

 

**Part 4: Piacere  
**

 

 

_L'anima umana (e così tutti gli esseri viventi) desidera sempre essenzialmente, e mira unicamente, benché sotto mille aspetti, al piacere, ossia alla felicità, che considerandola bene, è tutt'uno col piacere._

  
_A human's soul (and all living beings alike) always essentially desires, and uniquely aspires to, even though under a thousand disguises, pleasure, i.e. happiness, which carefully considered, is one with pleasure. - G.Leopardi, Zibaldone di Pensieri_

 

_According to Sensualism philosophers (from which Leopardi derived the basis of his thinking), the origin of everything were senses and sensations (they are the basic and most important form of true cognition), therefore even happiness would have also been a “sensation” – and not an emotion – albeit a “transformed” one, and was identifiable with pleasure._  
  


 

With Sam's birthday on the 29th, the festive mood between Christmas and New Year's Eve is continuous in the Carters' household. She knows this year is wonderful not because of one occasion, but she likes to attribute the lingering overall contentment to her birthday. It makes her feel more special, particularly when, as of late, all attention has been focused on the newest family member, Mark.

  
Uncle Irving sits her in his lap and makes her seem smaller than she is only because of the sheer size of his hand. She feels him shake whenever he laughs and she thinks it's the funniest sensation she has ever experienced. She guesses it's like being on one of the roller-coasters she has seen on TV.

  
He is a very distinctive individual; he is tall - taller than his brother Jacob - and fat. His face is hard around the edges and, with his hair cropped short, it looks even bigger than it actually is. If he wasn't her uncle, Sam would be scared of him. However, the fearsome image he impresses upon first glance quickly crumbles the moment he opens his mouth to speak.

  
Her father leans down to give her a soft kiss on the forehead and she is only briefly distracted from her musings. But as it is with any kid, her attention quickly changes focus, and Sam finds herself watching Jacob intensely before turning around in her Uncle's arms to scrutinize him.

  
Noticing her movements, he stops in the middle of a sentence, his mouth hanging open on the last syllable of whichever word he is stuck on. "Something wrong, Sweetie?"

  
"You look nothing like Dad," she states in that matter-of-fact and serious tone that only little kids possess.

  
For a second she is met with dead silence and she thinks she must have said something wrong, but before she can question her father about it, he snorts, "thank God for that!"

  
Daddy truly sounds relieved.

  
Uncle Irving looks offended for about half a second before he bursts out laughing with a hearty guffaw that reverberates through Sam's whole body and threatens to make her fall to the ground.

  
Just then, her mother appears from the kitchen's door with Mark cradled in one arm and a plate filled with Sam's favorite cookies - the ones with chocolate chips - in her other hand.

  
Sam's little brother has only recently made his first attempts to walk and usually still prefers to be held rather than stumble down on the ground, but Sam thinks that if his restless little legs are any indication, he'll soon start running around and tire their mother in an endless game of hide and seek until he is left with no energy and falls asleep. Sam used to do the same when she was as little as Mark, but now she is a big girl.

  
Jacob, a smile still plastered on his face, approaches his wife, frees her from the plate and kisses her over Mark's head. Sam, little and easily impressed as she is, can't help but think that she wants to marry a man just like Daddy when she's older. It doesn't matter that he's not often at home, that he nearly always misses the holidays and wasn't there to see that one recital where she was dressed like a bee, because whenever he is around her mother's smile brightens the whole room, and Sam has never seen something as pretty as that smile. Maybe Daddy can make Sam's smile shine as much.

  
Uncle Irving must catch her captivated interest at the scene unfolding before them; he leans down to whisper in her ear as if what he is about to say is a secret only for her to hear. "If Jake looked anything like me, you and Mark would be much bigger and uglier." It's not what he says per se that is funny; half of what comes out of his mouth is not really entertaining. It's his demeanor that really matters. Everything he does is calculated so that he will make anyone laugh.

  
The time he gives her to think allows her to picture herself and her brother giant-sized, just like the trolls of her bedtime stories. Sam grins widely, and then Uncle Irving tickles her until she starts giggling. When he finally stops, Sam notices her mother looking in her direction with that smile that she usually reserves for when she's really proud of her. A thought strikes Sam then, and even though it's silly she says it anyway, mostly encouraged by the fact that Uncle Irving says silly things all the time. "Ice-cream wouldn't make this any better."

  
Her mother once revealed to her a big secret and made Sam swear she would never disclose it. She told Sam that whenever there's something wrong, like when Dad is not home or Grandma is sick, ice-cream helps her feel better. Right now Sam can't find anything that she can classify as 'wrong'.

  
Jacob takes Mark from his wife's hands when he sees a flash of extreme affection, of a love that has no boundaries, cross her face at Sam's statement. He gets the gist of what his daughter said, but Sam thinks her mother is the only other inhabitant of the room that truly understands the true meaning of those words. Sam has half a thought about not grasping their deep significance herself.

  
As her mother takes Sam from Uncle Irving's lap to engulf her daughter in all her love, Sam internally reviews her early statement. Ice-cream couldn't make _this_ any better.  
  


* * *

 

 

Sam has been working on this project for years and is rather skittish about actually making it work. It's not that she doubts her abilities, it's more of an instance of not wanting to jeopardize her efforts. Yet she has to meet a deadline and she's not about to try her little experiment for the first time in front of a crowd. There's more than just money at stake; her pride is on the line. She still has a week to put the final touches to it and she wants to see what needs to be adjusted.

  
She takes off her jeans and shirt and dons more appropriate clothes before opening the garage door and letting the sun encase her and her project in light. She breathes in a little air and squints her eyes to try to see who is whistling at her from across the street. She's a little disappointed to see that it's a group of teenagers. It's not that she's old, but she'd like to think she'd be attracting a more mature pool of admirers by now.

  
Before she can hear any dirty comments regarding her leather-clad form coming from the young bunch, she retreats back into the garage, takes her black helmet and mounts her bike.

  
It's the first time she fires the engines of her Indian, and she's rather impressed with the sound that comes out. If that's any indication, she did a good job on what was once little more than a piece of junk. She takes the motorcycle out of the garage really slowly, making sure she doesn't collide with anything on the cluttered floor. Once outside, she closes the automatic garage door (an improvement she's really glad she could make on her own) and eyes the street in front of her.

  
She's been in Washington, DC long enough to know that the city's streets are not the best testing ground for any type of vehicle, let alone one with an engine as powerful as her 1940 Indian Scout. She decides to take Highway 50, but instead of heading East, which would take her out of town earlier, she opts for taking the Southwest route through Arlington, where eventually she'll end up being in Middle of Nowhere, VA headed towards Middle of Nowhere, WV.

  
She hasn't really planned ahead of that, knowing the best laid plans never quite work out, especially when her means of transportation could break down in the middle of the road. Knowing the eastern section of Highway 50 is more trafficked she should probably take it, but it's been too long since she's been truly alone and she prefers breaking down hundreds of miles away from rescue than sharing the road with other human beings.

  
After hours of riding without incident, she decides to really test her handiwork; she pushes the right throttle and increases her speed until she sees the speedometer's needle reach the 80 mph mark. She's 15 miles above the speed limit, and she knows that's reckless, but she's been observing rules too much lately without ever following her impulses.

  
The last year, though scientifically stimulating, hasn't been much else for Sam. On a professional level, she doesn't seem any closer to achieve her dream of getting into NASA, and she's been craving to do some flying or shoot something to relieve her stress. Instead, all she has had has been countless hours of lab work. Her personal life, if possible, is even worse; she broke her engagement before moving to DC, and she has a nephew whose name she knows, but who she's not welcome to visit. Her brother made it clear that the cards she gets for the holidays are more Stephanie's idea then his, and though Sam tries to file that away in the list of thing she can forgive him, it's starting to hurt a little too much.

  
With the sun slowly descending towards the horizon, the wind blowing against her leather jacket and the sound of the engine in her ears being the only intrusions to her senses, she finally feels like she can let go of everything that has been burdening her of late.

  
She probably wouldn't catalog this as one of her happiest moments in life, but the truth is, it kinda is, because there's no one around to ask her to explain her hypotheses, because there's no one around to disturb her thinking processes, because there's no one around to remind her of her duties and her obligations, because on this highway there's not a living soul she needs to lie to. It's just her.

  
And she can be herself.

  
After nearly twenty minutes of pushing the engine, she hears a sound that prompts her to slow down considerably and, when it doesn't stop, she pulls on the side of the road and takes her helmet off. She suspects something loosened because of the added pressure on the engine, but she can't check anything just yet unless she wants to get herself a serious burn.

  
She takes her gloves off and pulls her home-made sandwiches out of the side bag. She didn't stop at lunch time, so when she starts biting into the bread she does it with gusto. She's leaning on her bike looking at the long expanse of open fields on the other side of the road. It's incredibly relaxing. She is quite fond of the scenery. Though she's not much of a naturalist she can appreciate a good landscape, and this certainly qualify as such.

  
She stays like that for another ten minutes, entranced, before taking her tools and starting to fix the problem with her Indian. She touches the bike reverently, almost afraid of doing some damage and, before starting her trip back, she caresses the tank's side.

  
This bike is definitely going to be her partner through life.  
  


* * *

 

 

It's been years since the three remaining members of the Carter family sat together and talked. And even when they still were on speaking terms, the conversations were strained enough that Mark's next step was to leave home.

  
Sam talked with her brother a lot since that day. Not only did they exchange phone calls, but she also visited him on a couple of momentous occasions, his marriage being the last one of those.

  
It's the first time, though, that the atmosphere between the two siblings isn't filled with unspoken, yet not unheard, angry words and resentment, and it is definitely a first to see an adult Mark Carter share a smile with his father. That's not to say that all is well and good, and that years of ill feelings carry no weight, but everyone seems to be ready to admit to having been complicit in breaking the family apart. And maybe, Sam thinks, for the first time, they're all adults enough to admit that her mother's death wasn't the main issue between the three of them even if it was the triggering event.

  
Sam has half an idea that the way Lisa, her niece, doesn't seem willing to let go of her newly found grandfather might be playing a significant hand in mollifying both Mark and Jacob. Of course, Jacob's personality is also being mitigated by a symbiote - the eldest and wisest among the Tok'ra, apparently - inside his head. Also, if Teal'c questioned her father about Tau'ri's ways with children before he came to Sam, Jacob never stood a chance at resisting the all-front attack.

  
David, Mark's older son, seems more resistant to his grandfather's charms, but when Sam questions Stephanie about it, her sister-in-law reveals that she has recently lost her father and David was very attached to him. The kid is unconsciously trying to protect himself from further suffering and, at the same time, he is holding back because he doesn't want to betray his late grandfather by accepting someone that looks too much like a convenient replacement.

  
Sam smiles sadly and insists on doing the dishes to make up for digging up recent wounds, and Stephanie, who is rather exhausted, eventually acquiesces.

  
Sam finds the motions of washing and rinsing extremely soothing, and it's just what she needs after the mission she's had and the day spent in the company of one estranged brother and an emotionally-inept father. She should put on rubber gloves, but her hands are no longer soft and delicate; the last two years spent on SG-1 helped making sure the detergent has nothing to ruin.

  
In a house that is not her own, Sam has to start opening random drawers and cabinets in hope of finding the ones in which to fit the plates, cutlery, pots and glasses.

  
"The glasses go in the cabinet above the stove-top."

  
She turns around abruptly, startled to see her nephew sitting with his back against the farther wall of the kitchen, near the door. Sam notices his feet are only covered in socks and has no trouble believing he could sneak up on her while she'd been washing the dishes and daydreaming. It's a strange feeling for her, not having to worry about her surroundings, not needing to watch out for the bad guys.

  
Seeing the way he itches to do something with himself, she thinks if he wasn't so short he'd offer her his help with putting the glasses away. As it is, he's at least an inch too short to reach the cabinet. "How long have you been there?" she asks, eventually.

  
David shrugs, "a while."

  
Sam recognizes in his behavior signs of hesitation and self-doubt she is hard-pressed to reconcile with his young age. She doesn't know much about her nephew, but she thinks she sees the same aura of not-belonging that she has always associated with herself. She isn't sure whether it's something he carries home from school or if he just doesn't much fit in with this family. She doesn't know him well enough to be sure. She has a lot of work to do if she wants to be deserving of the title of 'Aunt Sam'.

  
She joins him on the ground and stares ahead even as he eyes her suspiciously. She gives him the time to adjust to her close proximity before she tentatively tries to break the ice. "Mark tells me you're into tabletop wargames." As far as conversation starters go, she is sure this one ranks somewhat higher than the weather or school.

  
"Yeah, I'm not much good at playing anything else, but I'm good at that," he asserts defensively, like he is trying to gauge how Sam, a woman of physical strength, will react to the news.

  
Maybe, his peers pick on him because of that.

  
So, that covers her first doubt on her nephew.

  
She doesn't tell him that everyone has his talent, nor any of the many reassurances kids his age can only perceive as ways adults have of hiding how inept they think their children are. She goes for the truth, instead. "That reminds me of myself when I was your age."

  
"Yeah?" he asks skeptically.

  
"Yeah," she confirms. "I wasn't really much good at anything besides identifying constellations in the sky. Just ask your father."

  
He smiles a bit, and some of the tension on his shoulders seems to lift. Kids can be really cruel if they put their minds to it. David must be having a hard time if he takes consolation in knowing a woman that is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, had his same inability to make friends as a kid. "I just love all the different races in Warhammer," he states. With a couple of missing teeth in his mouth he has a rather funny face, so she has to exert some self-control in order to keep her merriment at bay. She doesn't think he'd appreciate her amusement.

  
"What's your favorite?" She is not really into fantasy games as a genre, and she was never into miniatures or painting, but she inquires anyway.

  
"I really love the Tomb Kings," he says excitedly. "Also, painting the Daemons of Chaos was really fun, but they're kinda evil so I don't use them often."

  
She listens intently to his narration of the complex history behind their past and existence in both Warhammer Fantasy and Warhammer 40,000, and by the seriousness in his tone, she can tell that the topic is as important to him as astrophysics has always been to her. It's refreshing to see this much dedication in a boy as young as David. She is suddenly reminded of James, and a pang of nostalgia assaults her.

  
She nods and asks questions here and there when she needs clarifications, but mostly Sam lets him talk and is happy just to hear his voice. It's not as if she'll remember names as Nurglings or Khorne or Skarbrand by the end of this conversation; she's becoming more familiar with Ancient Egyptian gods, but this fictional mythology would be beyond even Daniel.

  
He is very articulate, especially for a kid his age. Sam thinks Colonel O'Neill would undoubtedly appreciate David's attention to grammar and Daniel would compliment his discourse. She's also quite sure Teal'c would become a fan of the fantasy genre after hearing David's lecture and would spend all his Earth currency on miniatures pieces to bring back to his son. Warhammer is as much a game of dice as it is of patience and strategy.

  
But Sam isn't like any of her teammates, and knows such compliments would sound forced and false coming from her mouth, so she spares him. Instead, she lets him turn the speech to his favorite - even if underrated - race, the Skaven. Apparently Stephanie is reading him their history as a bedtime story. Sam never had much appreciation for rats, and the idea of man-sized rats isn't really her cup of tea, but she actually starts seeing the positive traits of a race that is associated with plagues and diseases as she notices the shy smile spreading onto her nephew's face as he describes the intricacies of their society.

  
He is a beautiful young boy. His hair, just like his mother's, are a shade of dark chocolate, but the blue in his eyes comes from Sam's mother's side of the family. If it weren't for those orbs, he wouldn't share any trait with his father, but the little detail stands out enough to underline his origins.

  
As he drones on, his hands move in a frenzied attempt to entice her to the topic.

  
When he eventually finishes, their butts are cold and sore, and they share a knowing grin at Mark's voice calling for them. They join the rest of the family in the living room and David asks her what a theoretical astrophysicist does. He is sitting on the carpeted floor, his back against the chair Sam is currently occupying, and she has to wonder at his weird seating habits. Stephanie, snuggled close to Mark, keeps her eyes fixed on him, even as Sam starts explaining. Jacob has only half an ear for Sam, as he keeps most of his attention on the little girl asleep in his arms. Sam can see his eyes shine in a way she doesn't remember since before their mother died.

  
She tastes happiness then, in its purest and simplest form. She is surrounded by people she loves, her family is reuniting and she's sharing her passion with a mostly attentive audience. It's in moments like these that Sam remembers why she risks her life every day to save Earth, why her job is so important; it's days like these that she finds true purpose and motivation.

  
Sam thinks her mother would be happy if she could see them now. Sam knows she is.  
  


* * *

 

 

Life has been hectic for Sam lately - for her entire team, actually. There was Apophis' death (hopefully, this time he'll stick to being dead) with a side of Replicators thrown in just for kicks and, of course, Teal'c's brainwashing. Then Orlin arrives to botch the balance only just reacquired by the team. She's still a bit peeved about the fact that nobody believed her, and she's especially disappointed in her teammates. Then, icing on the cake, the whole team is given the memories of a new team member that is, in fact, an alien they only just met on another planet.

  
She'd say there's no rest for the wicked, but then Colonel O'Neill wouldn't look too pleased with her choice of words. Of all his oddities, Sam finds his alleged dislike for clichés to be the most endearing. There's something to be said about a man that doesn't settle for the ordinary.  But then again, he has other definitely less endearing aspects to his personality such as his unique choices of what to watch on movie night. At least, she's not alone in disliking that particular trait of his.

  
"Jack, aren't we supposed to watch a movie?"

  
The Colonel turns a scornful glare on Daniel, "who said that?"

  
Sam spies Teal'c lifting an eyebrow in confusion. "Is this not a 'movie night', O'Neill?"

  
"I never said _that_ ," defends the Colonel.

  
"Yes, you did," retorts Daniel.

  
"No, I didn't."

  
"Yes, you did."

  
"Didn't."

  
"Did."

  
Teal'c, foreseeing the exchange can only lead to an argument, wisely cuts it short before it has the chance of getting ugly. "You did, indeed, state that this was to be a 'movie night', O'Neill."

  
The Colonel knows Teal'c is right, since their Jaffa friend is never wrong in such matters; however, in a last ditch attempt at coming at least to a draw, he turns towards her in look for support.

  
"Sorry, Sir."

  
He tries to look betrayed, but comes off disappointed at best, mostly, because Sam knows he realizes he's wrong, but partly because he's sprawled on his couch, balancing a beer on his stomach, feet resting on the coffee table in front of him, looking like the picture of relaxation. In this pose, he couldn't pull off an expression of abandonment even if that was his actual state of mind.

  
In these four years spent together, the members of SG-1 have all grown so much accustomed to one another's quirks that Sam can hardly picture a scenario in which they can't understand each other at least on a basic level, unless, of course, they're being deliberately obtuse.

  
For instance, Daniel knows precisely when the Colonel contradicts him just for kicks. The fact that he is powerless to remain unaffected and usually grows quite impatient with the older man's antics is another matter altogether.

  
"Oh, fine!" O'Neill reluctantly relinquishes his idea of having a _Simpsons_ marathon. "But we're not watching _Star Wars_ , either."

  
Teal'c scowls at that. It's common knowledge that his fondness for the science-fiction saga borders on obsession. Sam has only seen him look more offended once, and she's still trying to understand the Jaffa joke so that one day she can tell him it cracks her up too. That poor Setesh guard makes it really hard, though.

  
The decision of what to watch slowly fades in the background of their bickering, as differences of opinions and tastes take a hold of the conversation. It seems as if whenever someone suggests a movie, someone else has a whole plethora of reasons why it isn't worth watching. Sam herself puts her two cents in when Daniel proposes they watch _Independence Day_. She has enough alien invasions in her daily life to last her into the afterlife.

  
Mostly, however, she relaxes in the corner of the couch and empties her mind until all she processes is the buzz of her teammates' voices. There's something extremely soothing in knowing that they're all here, together, discussing trivial matters even when they realize there's a war out there, a ruthless and merciless war that has taken too much from each and every one of them, a war that has been trying to be their undoing since its beginning. Enough so that their standing - emotional and physical scars aside - once more as a team, secure in the knowledge that they always have a way of finding each other, should account as a miracle.

  
She doesn't notice when the sounds around her abate, lulled to a state as close to sleep as she might reach while still awake.

  
It's Daniel's hand on her knee that brings her back to reality and to the three concerned pairs of eyes staring at her.

  
"Are you not well, Major Carter?"

  
Teal'c's question echoes in her head for the entire time she takes thinking of an answer.

  
She sees the worry grow in the way Daniel squeezes her jeans-clad knee, in the way Teal'c minutely inches forward in his chair, and in the way Colonel O'Neill's forehead wrinkles. And that's the moment she realizes that, even if her life is messed up, and she hardly ever gets the time to take a breath, she wouldn't trade this life for anybody else's.

  
"I'm fine," she answers eventually with a real smile plastered on her face. "Yeah, I'm fine."  
  


* * *

 

 

It's been a while since she has last been stuck in a cave with only one of her teammates to keep her company, longer still since the situation that found her in the secluded space wasn't life-threatening, but it's the first time she gets to do it with Jonas.

  
He is, of course, smiling.

  
His ever-present enthusiasm is refreshing in a way she thinks of as both familiar and alien. She used to be just as astonished as he is in her earlier days on SG-1, but things change and she can't remember the last time her mind wasn't weighed down by concerns or painful memories. It's been especially hard after Daniel's sort-of-death.

  
Jonas is an amazing person, and she's glad Colonel O'Neill decided to take him as the new member of SG-1, but it's hard to work with him when she sometimes sees him as a replacement for Daniel. She knows she's being unfair to the Kelownan, mostly because he's nothing like Daniel, yet she still struggles with seeing Jonas in the Archaeologist's office.

  
"So," Jonas says eventually. "How long do you figure we'll be stuck in here?" There is not a single ounce of worry in his voice and she's glad; she's not really in the mood to give a pep-talk.

  
She takes some time to consider the situation carefully before answering. Their next scheduled check-in with the Colonel and Teal'c is in ten minutes, and that's when the two will figure out there's something wrong with her and Jonas and will come looking for them. They know exactly where Sam and Jonas are, but it'll take them fifteen minutes to get to the ante-chamber where most of the two scientists' gear lay. If the situation was reversed, between Sam and Jonas they'd have the door mechanism open in a couple of minutes tops. As it is, Sam's hoping the sound carries through the rock walls if she yells loud enough. Otherwise she thinks it might be awhile.

  
Jonas nods, evidently coming to the same conclusion.

  
The silence carries on for a couple of minutes, before either of them speaks again, and the one to break it, once again, is Jonas. "You know," he says, turning to face her by his side. "It could be worse."

  
"Worse than being secluded in a dark, alien storage room with no means of getting out?" Sam asks skeptically but with a hint of humor.

  
"We could be without water and air," he retorts logically. "There could also be alien lizards lying in wait," he adds playfully after a beat.

  
She snorts. Yeah, that would be just their luck. "And we could be without our flashlights," she adds for good measure.

  
"Without food to bait them with," he says while giving her a snack.

  
She accepts it gratefully. "They could be mutant lizards bent on galactic domination, too."

  
"Right," Jonas acquiesces. "Giant, green, vicious, mutant lizards bent on galactic domination."

  
"The evilest enemy ever known to mankind." After that she has to wonder at the plausibility of the fact and, even if it sounds too much like a B-movie trailer, she can actually see SG-1 gate to a planet dominated by lizards. Maybe she can write it down and make a _Wormhole X-Treme_ episode out of it, if the show's still on. "My life is weird," she surmises.

  
Jonas laughs, agreeing wholeheartedly. He has a beautiful laugh.

  
Once they're quiet again, she takes the time to observe him like she's not sure she ever did before. She sees there's much more to him than she realized now that she looks for the smaller details. She recognizes a troubled mind beneath the joviality. She can understand that his desire to talk is a direct effect of a feeling of not belonging in the way he isn't sure where he should let his eyes rest. She forgets, sometimes, that he is a refugee, that his government would gladly have his head served on a silver plate, given the possibility.

  
In true SG-1 style, Jonas' past is troubled. What she forgot, however, is that his past only dates back five months. It's been hard on him, and she should really have taken more notice. He deserves at least that much.

  
She wants to make it her business to actually be his friend, and her first step in that direction is being the one to break the silence for once. "Do you know anything about motorcycles?"

  
By the time the Colonel and Teal'c manage to get them out, she has acquainted herself with a more personal side of Jonas Quinn, a side eager to learn about physics _and_ motorcycles, apparently.

  
"You know, Jonas? We should do this more often," she says as they make their way back to the Stargate.  
The Colonel, in front of her, stops and turns around looking a little bewildered, as if she'd grown another head, but before he can express his perplexity Jonas agrees with her suggestion.

  
"Are we sure the air in that place was breathable?" the Colonel asks.

  
"I feel fine, Colonel. Thanks for asking," Jonas states.

  
"Me too, Sir," Sam adds, acting like she doesn't know exactly why he asked.

  
"Let me get this straight," he says motioning with his right hand. "You two want to make a habit of getting stuck in alien storage rooms, and you're trying to tell me you feel fine?"

  
Jonas looks at her with a glint in his eyes and she responds in kind, the same idea crossing both of their minds. "Don't worry, Sir," she says while sidestepping him and resuming their trek to the 'Gate. "Next time, you and Teal'c can come too."  
  


* * *

 

 

The trip to Jack's cabin, if not a step ahead in their relationship, is a way for both of them to come to terms with the events of the past year.

  
Sam finds it a little disconcerting when she realizes that in the time she spent engaged to Pete, she flirted with her CO much more than she ever had before. She's not entirely sure whether that was a result of knowing herself well enough to feel certain that she would never cheat on her fiancée, or of not working with Jack O'Neill as much or as closely as they once did. She does, however, remember the hours spent on the phone with Jack, the crossword puzzles and the lunches just between the two of them.

  
She convinced herself that she only did that because she wanted to make him feel like he was still a part of SG-1, but the telling absence of Daniel and Teal'c during those exchanges makes her rethink her previous assessment.

  
She's been doing that a lot, lately, rethinking the status quo, that is. She's gained a new perspective in life, due in no small measure to her father's parting words.

  
She misses him she realizes. Not the same way she misses her mother with whom she'd been acquainted for too little time. But differently doesn't mean either more or less. Both losses aren't quantifiable and she has no desire to try and put a value on them. Sometimes math just doesn't apply.

  
Jack - in her mind she finally started to call him that - has been amazing. Supportive in a way she doesn't think she deserves after what she put him through, and the damage she did to their rapport. He brings levity to every conversation they have that isn't private, but when the two of them are alone he is silent and still in a way that should scare her, but has the exact opposite effect. He listens to her every word, but more than that, he listens to her every silence, and sometimes she has the pleasantly unsettling impression that he hears exactly what he's supposed to.

  
And it should scare her that their relationship - she uses the term in the most platonic way - is based on silence, but the truth is that even when they do talk, it's what goes unsaid that matters most. It's always been that way between them, even where their working relationship was concerned.

  
They just began to allow themselves the luxury of not feeling ashamed or guilty when they spend time together alone. The Goa'uld are mostly dead, the Replicators are gone, and it's just a matter of days before Sam's transfer to Area 51 at Groom Lake becomes official. Since they still aren't doing anything untoward, Sam thinks having dinner with the man she considers to be, first and foremost, her best friend is entirely acceptable, especially with her father's blessing still ringing clear in her mind.

  
When she opens the door to find that Jack made an extra effort in dressing for the occasion, she doesn't much worry about her choice of casual clothing, not even in the face of fitted trousers and white shirt tucked in said trousers. She is, however, startled about the fact that he doesn't own only clothes at least two sizes too big. Not that she minds, really; Jack cuts a striking figure, and she's not one to avert her eyes when a good-looking man comes her way. And damn it, but Jack looks... well, _hot_.

  
He seems torn between being uncomfortable and satisfied with her scrutiny. He doesn't really like to be under the spotlight, but he enjoys that she's undressing him with her eyes.

  
He drives her to a restaurant that may not be the fanciest and most romantic in town, but is decidedly more upscale than the ones he took her to on earlier occasions. He has reserved a table for two that is quite secluded and private, and she doesn't exactly know what to make of that. It could be that he chose it knowing that they sometimes slip and mention classified matters, but maybe he picked that table specifically because he wants this dinner to be a prelude to what will happen once she'll officially be head of Research and Development at Area 51.

  
When he takes her chair out for her, she has the distinct feeling that he planned everything, from his attire to the single lit candle sitting on the table in front of them, with that second goal precisely in mind. She feels guilty then, for not devoting more time to her outfit; maybe a cocktail dress would have been a more generous reward for his thoughtfulness.

  
He must notice her discomfort and understand what caused it considering he gives her an appreciative smile and leans down to bring his mouth level with her right ear. "You're beautiful," he whispers.

  
His breath tickles her, and she feels a shiver run down her spine and reach as far as her feet. She's desperately hoping her transfer comes through sooner rather than later because she might lose it completely and jump him in the middle of a corridor on Base if he keeps whispering things in her ear the way he just did.

  
She'd be lying if she tried to deny that she found him attractive during their first meeting and henceforth until today, but while his looks certainly played an important part in her giving him the chance to get under her skin, it's in no way the reason she finds herself loving him. Jack has given her ample reason not to like him. His personality often makes her count to ten and look for shelter in her happy place, and he has the tendency to be quite pig-headed and exasperating, but his devotion to the people he loves is so unwavering that she finds reasons behind his flaws. He is so scared of hurting those few individuals he cares about that he erects barriers around himself so that they might keep themselves at a safe distance and don't end up suffering because of him. But, somehow, he allowed his team to get past his barriers. He allowed himself to be once again open to the pain that comes with loving someone.

  
She only loves him more for that.

  
They're incredibly good at carrying a conversation that doesn't involve work, despite its being such a fundamental part of both their lives, but when he parks the car four blocks away from her home on the way back from the restaurant, she knows he's stalling for time. She doesn't know his plan for the evening, but so far it worked out just fine, so she's inclined to allow him the latitude.

  
His nervous silence, though, unsettles her a bit.

  
"Something wrong?" she asks.

  
He turns to face her, and she can read some panic even in the darkness. "No," he tries to convince her. "No, everything's good."

  
His reassurance, too nonchalant and too quick does nothing to ease her mind. "Really?" she asks skeptically.

  
"Sure."

  
He doesn't meet her eyes, instead focusing all of his attention on the ground he's walking. The last time a guy acted like this with her, she was being dumped.

  
"Have I done something wrong?" Sam wants to scream, but she keeps her voice barely above a whisper. One of the things that unnerve her most about Jack O'Neill is that he has the superhuman ability of jabbering one moment and clamming up the next.

  
"What? No, why?"

  
She gives him a death glare, but he misses it in favor of focusing on his feet. So, instead of going for a direct approach, she tries to make him open up in a gentler way, "I thought the evening was going well."

  
That gets his attention. Apparently she infused the right amount of dejection into her voice. His eyes widen in a worried expression, but before he allows himself to confide his doubts with her, he bites his lower lip and glances at his watch. She follows his gaze and notices that the clock isn't displaying the time. Unless, a black hole just encompassed her and swallowed hours of her life without her noticing, she is pretty sure it's not 0013. Far from it, actually.

  
Before she can ask him anything about it, however, he gives her a desperate look, and says, "trust me, please?"

  
She wants to say no. She wants to shake him until he tells her what's wrong. She wants to whack him until he sees sense. She really wants to do all those things, but she's powerless to resist his plea. She trusted him so much during their years in the field that now it's harder not to than it is to question him. Sam isn't sure that that's something which needs fixing, but she decides that she can ponder the dynamic of trust in a relationship starting tomorrow.

  
She looks up to the stars then, and even with the light pollution she can make out some dim constellations. By her side Jack starts naming them one by one, and though she still has a ton of questions for him, the fact that he's calm tells her that whatever is coming next can't be too bad. His hand on the small of her back, guiding her step and preventing her from running into a street lamp speak of how her unwavering faith in him isn't entirely misplaced.

  
His hand his warm, and even though it's summer, she doesn't find his touch discomforting at all. The heat that seeps through her shirt isn't really physical as much as it is metaphoric. He is sharing a part of himself with her, and that could never bother her, not on the hottest of days.

  
When they reach her house there's a moment in which she's not really sure what she should say or do. If it was any other person, or the circumstances were different, she would expect her date to leave her at her door and kiss her goodnight. But it's Jack O'Neill, and they're standing in front of her picket fence, and as much as she wants to taste his lips and see if they're anything like the ones she's been daydreaming about for quite some time now, he's still her CO and she won't jeopardize all their efforts tonight.

  
He makes the choice for her when he releases the hook on the fence's gate. His eyes are fixed in hers, and he doesn't need to tell her that he's walking her to her doorstep. She gets the message just fine.

  
She barely registers the steps they take in the direction of her house, mindful only of the intensity of his look on her.

  
The spell he seems to have cast on her breaks abruptly when his watch goes off with a chirping sound. She isn't entirely sure why, but he smiles shyly in response to that and she's not entirely sure his watch was set to keep the time at all, anymore.

  
"I'm sorry about before. When you asked me what was wrong," Jack clarifies. "I just needed some extra time, and I'm sorry if I made you think something was amiss."

  
"Extra time?" Sam asks, overcoming the shock of hearing him apologize so freely.

  
"Apparently some paperwork got lost in the in-tray beneath a mountain of other stuff," he states in what appears to be a non-sequitur.

  
She doesn't see the connection, but doesn't interrupt him. It's only rarely that she gets a long answer from him. It's rare for anyone to get a long answer from him.

  
"It was about you," he continues. "Date and time of your transfer to R &D."

  
It's like a light bulb just lit up inside Sam's brain. He had the watch on a timer. And he needed more time.

  
"I know I should have told you, but I only found it before leaving the Base and I thought I could surprise you," he sounds unsure of his decision now.

  
"Dinner?" Sam asks perplexed.

  
He smiles at her inquiring after the details and answers before she can further elaborate her question. "I know the owner of the restaurant."  
Sam wants to say something else, something about how he should have told her because she could have rewarded his efforts more properly, but then another light bulb lights up.

  
She's officially out of his chain of command.

  
"Congratulations," he says.

  
She looks at him. Really looks at him. He's no longer her CO. She can probably call him Jack - not that she's likely to do so anytime soon, but still...

  
He's about to say something. She knows because he opens his mouth and a sound comes out of it, but her brain is too preoccupied with processing the stream of thoughts overtaking her to understand what he's saying. And after a minute of silent stupor she comes out of her daze with only one thought in mind.

  
He can kiss her goodnight.

  
She drops the keys to the floor and places her hands on either side of his face, pulling him in slowly. He's startled at first, but by the time his lips are on hers he's put a hand on her hip and is cradling her cheek with the other. His long fingers cup her behind the head and draw her closer just as his tongue asks her lips to part.

  
Unlike the memories she has of his hallucination on board _Prometheus_ , she can feel him as he tentatively explores the inside of her mouth. His scent fills her nostrils, his rough skin is everything she touches with her fingers, and the coffee he had before leaving the restaurant is what she tastes with her mouth.

  
As the need for air becomes undeniable, he pulls back until there's but a silver of space between them. He rests his forehead on hers and everything she sees are his eyes, shining with the same happiness she knows is reflected in hers. The urge to kiss him again is great.

  
She wants to say something, though. Something meaningful. But she's speechless. She just kissed Jack O'Neill and there's nothing wrong with it. He's not a hallucination, they haven't had their memory erased, he's not from an alternate reality, and they just kissed. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with it.

  
She definitely wants to kiss him again. And the thing is... she can.

  
So she does.

**Author's Note:**

> The translation from Leopardi's Zibaldone is mine, I've left the original in case anyone understands Italian.


End file.
